Ablepsia
by travln1
Summary: AU. Alternate season 5 beginning. Wilson's gone from PPTH and suddenly finds himself blind. Can House find a cure before it's too late? House & Wilson friendship. 6862 words total. Thanks to my amazing betas: Chippers87 & Wrytingtyme.
1. Chapter 1

"House," Cuddy said from the doorway.

"Busy, knee deep in vital research."

"Scouring the internet for porn is not vital research."

"Says you."

"I've got a consult I'd like you to take a look at."

"It's not porn; I'm just checking to make sure the webcam I set up in your bedroom is functioning properly."

Cuddy set her jaw with a sigh. "Patient. Consult. Now."

"What part of busy don't you understand?"

"You don't have a patient."

"The clinic's empty, ER is fully staffed and Cameron's got it under control."

"This one's over at Presbyterian."

"Bike's low on gasoline."

"Patient presents with acute blindness."

"Awww, maybe his mommy should kiss it and make it better."

"No glaucoma, no other complaints, blood pressure's stable, no history of eye problems, no diabetes."

"Don't they have doctors at Presbyterian?"

"Their ophthalmologist is on a mission trip in central America."

"So he should be transferred."

"Patient refused to be taken to Princeton Plainsboro; the Presbyterian ER staff made a call on his behalf."

"The patient's an idiot."

Cuddy stood across from his desk, set the file in front of him and leaned over so that she was nearly nose to nose with him. "Take this case, House."

"There's nothing you can say to make me take that case," he said, finally turning from the computer to look her in the eye, challenging her with his gaze.

"The patient is Wilson."

House looked away defiantly, feigning disinterest. "I'm sure they can handle him."

"House, he needs you."

"No he doesn't; he won't come to this hospital for treatment specifically to avoid me. I think he's made it very clear that he doesn't want my help."

"He may not want it, but he needs it."

"You've been to his place several times since he left; since you're so buddy-buddy, you can tell him I hope it all works out for him."

Cuddy placed her hands on her hips, refusing to back down. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? You _want_ to help him, but you're too damned _you_ to admit it. He's already pushed you away, moved, said he's not your friend anymore. He can't do anything more to hurt you, but if you don't take this case, you can certainly hurt him. Is that what you really want?"

"He won't allow me to treat him," House said as he ran his hand down his face.

"He doesn't have to know it's you."

"How?"

"I don't know; the staff can tell him his doctor had his jaw wired shut; he can't see, remember?"

House looked at her in disbelief. "Yeah, that'll work. He's an idiot, not a moron."

"The longer we wait, the more likely the blindness may be permanent."

House strummed his fingers on the desk and glanced briefly at the computer screen before allowing his gaze to rest on the folder in front of him. He read the name on the tab, his stomach burning just a bit; each letter as familiar as those in his own name. There was no question whether or not he would take the case, there never was; it was Wilson.

"How long has it been?"

"Two hours since he was brought in; three since he began to lose his vision."

"Page my team, I'll have to run the differential from Presbyterian. You're driving; I can't talk and steer the bike at the same time."

"I can't leave; I've got a meeting that's been on the calendar for more than a year. You're going to have to go over there alone, House. Here," she said, passing her car keys, "Take these."

"I've got my bike."

"And how do you expect Wilson to get back here?"

House shrugged his shoulders. "He won't come."

"He might. He's alone and probably scared right now. He needs a competent doctor, but he needs his friend more."

"Yeah, well you know what he said; I don't fit the friend description."

"You do today," she said grabbing his hand and dropping the keys onto his palm.


	2. Chapter 2

When Wilson opened his eyes that morning, the center of his vision was blackened. It was lighter around the edges, but other than a sense of light and dark, he couldn't see. He ran through several possible diagnoses, each leaving him more bewildered than the next. He didn't have glaucoma, at least not that he was aware of. He'd been to the ophthalmologist earlier that year and was fine. He couldn't remember having had a stroke and he didn't have hypertension, though he tested his blood pressure anyway, running through the motions on autopilot, until he realized he couldn't read the test results.

Frustrated, Wilson felt his way into the kitchen for a glass of water when his vision suddenly darkened completely; no light, no slightly-less-murky ring around the outside edge of his eye, nothing. He felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him.

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Trying to focus on the next logical step, Wilson found it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the silence that now enveloped him, magnifying every sound, every heartbeat. He picked up his cell phone, fingers instantly poised to dial House when he remembered what he'd said to him only weeks prior; they weren't friends, possibly never were. He didn't believe it, not really, but when faced with angry frustration, Wilson lashed out. He couldn't dismiss the visit House made upon his leaving; he'd slammed the door in his face, telling him that he would no longer open the door should House knock. How on earth could he ask a favor of him now? House would have every right to slam the door in his face, whether he could see the door or not, and Wilson wouldn't blame him for it. So, he'd asked his next door neighbor for a ride to the nearest hospital he could think of, other than Princeton Plainsboro, and now fearing the end to everything as he'd always known it, Wilson hoped he'd made a harmless mistake to cause him to lose his sight, though he couldn't imagine what. It was then that Wilson began to wonder about the validity of karma.

_______

Wilson sat on a paper covered exam table waiting for an unknown doctor to stride in, hopeful that this man he would have to trust with his sight, would have a miracle cure. He hoped his savior would be able to see something Wilson literally and figuratively could not. He'd arrived nearly four hours earlier, but was forced to wait in the ER waiting room for higher priority cases. Apparently sight was not a top priority, at least not when someone's femoral artery was slashed, or someone else had been crushed in a car accident. Wilson tried to remind himself that triage was designed for a reason and that while he could not see, he was also not in imminent danger. The thought did little to quell his fears and he found himself wishing Amber was beside him and at times, he even wished for the snark of his former best friend.

A nurse quietly stepped into Wilson's exam room. His eyes wide open, his gaze failed to meet hers, missing the mark by about five inches to the left when she began to speak.

"Mr. James Wilson? A specialist is here to see you; he'll be right in."

"_Doctor_ James Wilson."

"Doctor. I'm sorry, it's not noted on your chart."

"Thank you," he said, effectively dismissing her. He hadn't meant to be rude, but his emotions regarding everything that had happened that morning had gotten the better of him.

He sat with hands clenched, face tense, eyes wide open. Wilson wondered if he should close them; he wondered if it mattered. He thought about Stevie Wonder and the head movements he made when speaking and certainly when performing, and Wilson couldn't help but wonder if he himself made over-exaggerated head motions now that he couldn't see. Did he turn his head more to one side to hear better? Did he pinch his face while straining to listen? He didn't know; he hoped not.

Anxious, Wilson tried to regulate his breathing as he heard a slight knock on the door. "Come in," he needlessly called out.

The door opened, but did not close; it was something Wilson thought was a bit odd. The specialist did not announce his arrival nor proffer up a greeting. Instead, Wilson heard the squeak of an exam room stool as it was wheeled from the door to a position somewhere near his feet. The specialist said nothing, perhaps an odd sort, ill at ease with patients; a recluse in his every day life or a curmudgeon; perhaps a House and not a home.

He felt a slight breeze just to the left of his nose as he heard the swish of what he could only guess was someone's hand, crudely trying to assess the degree of blindness.

"So, after that highly scientific exam, do you think I might regain my sight?"

"Can you see what I'm doing now?" House asked, as he mockingly stuck two fingers at Wilson's eyes, as if he were the fourth stooge.

"I'm not at Princeton Plainsboro for a reason."

"Yeah, well next time try choosing a hospital with a doctor who can take on your case. The ophthalmologist here is off in Timbuktu helping blind orphans while trying to pave his way to heaven and the ER's staffed by twelve year olds who are currently swamped with a four car pile up."

"Then I'll go somewhere else. New York General has a much larger facility."

"And how do you propose to get there? I think there's a three year wait-list for a guide dog."

"Get out."

House was now standing, the ruse to hide the extra footfall no longer necessary, as he raised his hands to Wilson's face. "I'm here as your doctor. No worries, wouldn't want you to think I was here as a friend."

"House, I-"

"No, I get it. No problem. I'm only here because Cuddy sent me. I _have_ read the Hippocratic Oath at least once, so I won't leave you in worse shape than when you showed up."

Despite being blind, Wilson could see straight through House's words, though the painful sting of the words pierced him anyway.

"Symptoms?"

"None."

"Just boom, blind?"

"I woke up unable to see out of the center, but I could see some light around the outside edges. A short while later, all lights went out."

"Headache?"

"I had a migraine yesterday and a mild headache since I got up this morning."

House gently set his fingers at the corners of Wilson's eyes, beginning an exam, when Wilson batted him away. "Maybe someone else should do this."

Slightly taken aback at the abrupt gesture, House chose to ignore Wilson. "I'm not going to ask you for your history; I know you're not diabetic, no glaucoma. Any other secrets you might be hiding, besides the migraine? Like maybe the skin cancer scare you hid last year?"

Wilson slightly furrowed his brow. "You knew?"

"You thought I didn't?"

Wilson shook his head. "No. It turned out to be nothing."

"And yet, you still didn't trust me with that information. Any vomiting? Seizures? Strokes?"

"No."

"BP?"

"Normal when I checked in."

"Look up," House said, as he flashed a light into Wilson's right eye.

"You don't have to do this."

House checked the other eye before lowering the penlight. "Could you see any of that light just now?"

"No. So, are you just going to ignore everything I say?"

"Only if it doesn't pertain to blindness. Any head trauma?"

"No."

"Any family history-"

"You know there's nothing."

"Would you rather I have them call in some other world-renowned diagnostician? I can leave," House said, turning towards the door, making sure his footsteps were loud and clear.

"Wait, House," Wilson sighed.

"First you tell me to leave, now you want me to stay? Actually, first you tell me we aren't friends, then you say we never were, and now you can't decide if I should go or stay. So, Sybil, which is it?"

Wilson paused, finally realizing the impact his words had left on House. He heard the hurt and the anger, but what he heard most was the voice of his friend and though he hated to admit it, he was grateful to hear it. "Stay."

"Well, I'd rather leave to be honest-"

"Fine, if you don't wan-"

"You didn't let me finish. I'm not going to cure you in the next twenty minutes and I'd prefer my team run the tests, get a full work-up at Princeton Plainsboro. Thirteen's a wreck, Taub's marriage is on the rocks and Kutner gets on my nerves, but they're competent; more than I can say for the idiot who spelled Wilswan on your chart. I'd offer to let you see it, but given the circumstances…."

"I…." Wilson nodded slowly. "Okay." He paused. "Wilswan? Seriously?"


	3. Chapter 3

I know I said originally that there would be 8 chapters, but the more I look at the story, I think it'll be less. It's complete, but if I stretch it out to 8 chapters, some of them will be extremely short. Thanks for reading and reviewing :)

"Wilson?" Foreman asked, as he watched Cuddy guide Wilson into the diagnostics conference room.

"Yes, I'm blind," he said with a sigh.

"House?"

"Are you only capable of stating one word names, Foreman?"

"What happened?"

"Well, you've graduated to two word questions. Get the rest of the team up here and then we can figure out why Wilson's blind as a bat."

"We're going to run a differential with the patient in the room?" Foreman asked.

"Wilson stays," House said, his tone unwavering and determined. "Get him started on prednisone."

"You're going to start treatment before you've diagnosed me? Prednisone?"

"Do you want to risk permanent blindness or trust my judgment?"

"Why prednisone?" Cuddy asked.

House raised his voice, "Prednisone is-"

Craning his neck in her direction, Wilson frowned. "Used to treat temporal arteritis. But this is my sight we're talking about. I can't just recklessly hand over my trust and disregard my own medical knowledge. What if it's not arteritis? The side affects from prednisone alone can be…."

"Foreman, why don't we go find the rest of the team?" Cuddy asked, not taking no for an answer. Foreman glanced between House and Wilson and nodded, allowing Cuddy to pull him into the hall.

House stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, jaw set. "Fine, if you don't trust me, you might as well go find someone else you do trust."

"Do you think this is easy for me?"

"If you don't trust me, I can't help you." House replied.

Wilson sat with his eyes closed. It wasn't supposed to be this way, none of it. Amber wasn't supposed to be dead. House wasn't supposed to be angry with him; Wilson should be angry with House, or at least frustrated, annoyed, humiliated or any other number of things, as it had always been. And Wilson was supposed to have his vision. But he couldn't think clearly. Did he trust House? Wilson couldn't think of a single instance in which he hadn't, including during Amber's final hours. He also couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't trust him now. "I think I'm running a fever."

House wrote the words, "Fever, migraine," and, "blindness," on the whiteboard before pressing his hand to Wilson's forehead. "Low grade."

"Any ideas?"

Before House could answer, his team walked into the room, sat themselves around the table and began rattling off possible diagnoses. It was obvious Cuddy and Foreman had warned them, as not one of them glanced at Wilson, nor hesitated in the differential.

"No glaucoma, we said that already," Foreman said.

"Run the test anyway." House turned towards Wilson, "Any joint pain?"

"No."

"Any other pain?"

"No."

"Vasculitis?" Kutner asked.

"He's too young," Thirteen said, shaking her head.

Foreman looked to House. "Do you want us to start the prednisone?"

House studied Wilson, tuning out everyone in the room, including the potentially sight saving discussion. His team seemed to fade away, leaving just Wilson sitting at the far side of the table and House, standing at the other end. Wilson sat with his eyes closed, head tipped slightly to the left and House found he couldn't tear his eyes away from him, wondering what he would do if a cure couldn't be found in time.

"House?" Foreman asked. "_House_."

Wilson jerked his head from left to right, trying to hear as best as he could. "House," he said, wondering if he had wandered off.

House couldn't bring himself to look away from Wilson, but he shook his head. "Scan his brain," he said in a monotone voice as he walked into his office. "Test him for diabetes and glaucoma, get a CBC, CHEM seven. Do a full work up." House turned towards his office and mumbled, "Hold off on the prednisone."

_______

Cuddy waited for Wilson and the team to disappear down the hall before approaching House in his office. She stood on the threshold between the conference room and his office, watching as he massaged his temples with his eyes closed.

"You need to talk with him," she said.

"What I _need_ is my vicodin."

Pursing her lips in slight frustration, Cuddy retrieved the vial from the conference room table and placed it on his desk as she sat down opposite him.

"He's scared to death."

"He should be," House said, eyes focused on the bottle of vicodin.

"That's not what I mean."

"Not now, Cuddy."

"Do you really think he wants your fellows running the tests?"

"Well, I'm sure it's not me he wants down there. He's the one who left, remember?"

Cuddy stood from her chair and walked towards the door. "And you're the only one who can bring him back," she said giving him one last glance before leaving him to his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

kwittbugginme: This story is already complete, so no worries, I will post all of it. I was just saying that I would post it in fewer, but longer chapters, instead of many short chapters.

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing.

The team gathered around the conference room table as House stood at the window, silently watching Wilson from a distance. Though Wilson had been admitted as a patient, he was currently seated on the couch in his office, waiting for word. He refused to be confined to a bed when he had nothing physically wrong with him other than his lack of vision and despite Cuddy's protests, House had convinced Cuddy that Wilson would heal no faster in a hospital bed than in his own office.

"House, focus," Foreman said, trying once again to get House's attention. House turned from the window, picked up the marker and took his place at the whiteboard.

"There's nothing," Foreman said. "No diabetes, no glaucoma, no drugs in his system-"

"He's not an addict," House bit back.

"You wanted us to test for everything."

"Anything else?"

"Kidneys and liver look good, heart's fine. There's nothing. He's the picture of perfect health," Taub added.

"Except he's blind." House turned to the whiteboard and drew a large question mark before recapping the marker.

"So, should we-"

"Go home," House said unexpectedly.

Foreman stood from his seat, brow furrowed. "You want us to just go home?"

"It's late, there's nothing more we can do tonight. Go home."

The fellows remained seated, no one daring to question him except Foreman. "House, this is Wilson."

House turned away from the whiteboard and pounded his fist on the table in anger. "Don't you think I know that? I said _go home_."

Not waiting for a second outburst, the fellows filed out of the conference room, leaving House to stare at the nearly empty whiteboard for what felt like a few minutes, but what turned out to be closer to an hour.

"House?" Wilson asked from the doorway.

He closed his eyes upon hearing Wilson's voice; he sounded tired. One word and Wilson conveyed complete exhaustion, fear and a simultaneous plea for help.

"You're fit as a fiddle."

Wilson groped with his hands, searching for the conference room table, only to trip over a chair. "Dammit," he muttered.

"There's a chair there," House said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"Just trying to help."

"I'm sure."

House shook his head and sighed; as much as he wanted this friendship back, the tension gone and Wilson's vision restored, he couldn't help but feel bitter. Angry at what, he didn't know, but with no other outlet, Wilson was the unintended target. House opened his mouth, ready to spew hurtful remarks he knew he'd regret later, when Wilson beat him to the punch.

"I'm sorry; I'm just so," Wilson's voice faltered, his fear bubbling to the surface. "I just can't believe this is happening. As if losing Amber wasn't enough…." He allowed his voice to trail off, trying to keep the tears that threatened to fall at bay.

House stood somewhat dumbfounded, thrown off guard by the unexpected apology. The terse words that were on the tip of his tongue only seconds earlier seemed to disappear. Standing there in the dark of the evening with his one time best friend, he twirled his cane as words failed him.

"I shouldn't take it out on you; you don't deserve it," Wilson said, as he felt his way to a sitting position in the offending chair.

Comforting words not being a strong suit, House resorted to what he could rely on: facts. "The tests are all clean."

"Then run more tests," Wilson said, biting down and grimacing.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You grimaced."

"I've got a bad tooth."

"How long?"

"A few days."

"Everybody lies," House said, shaking his head.

"I never lied to you."

"When I asked you if you were in any pain, I meant _any_ pain."

"My tooth is not related to my vision loss."

House sat down opposite Wilson and placed his hands on Wilson's face, pressing firmly around his eyes. Wilson jerked his head back, again wincing from the pressure.

"That hurts," House said, not waiting for Wilson to respond. "When did this start?"

"I…I don't know; it didn't hurt before."

House nodded, wrote the new symptom on the whiteboard and paced several times, deep in thought. It was likely temporal arteritis with this new symptom, but Thirteen had been correct in saying that Wilson was too young for this type of vasculitis. It generally presented in people over fifty years of age. _Leave it to Wilson to overachieve._

"Start the prednisone," Wilson whispered.

"If it is temporal arteritis, we need to get a biopsy of your-"

Wilson shook his head, cutting House off. "If it _is_ temporal arteritis, then it's too late for my vision."

"But not for the pain or the potential strokes. We'll start the prednisone but we need confirmation."

"It can wait until tomorrow." Wilson covered his face with his hands and sighed. "I'm too young for this."

"Don't get ahead of yourself; it might be something else."

"Optimism? From you?" Wilson half snorted. "This _is_ bad."

_______

"Where is he?" Cuddy asked as she approached House near the clinic.

"Don't worry, I haven't lost him."

"So, where is he?"

House rolled his eyes and motioned towards an exam room in the clinic with his head. "Getting a pressure check and his first dose of prednisone."

Cuddy's eyes widened in fear. "If it's…he's going to be…."

House nodded. "Permanently blind."

"Oh, Wilson," she sighed. "So, what now? Is he going to your place tonight?" The pair moved towards the door to Wilson's exam room. Cuddy planned on walking inside, hoping to stand by her former employee and long time friend, but House clearly had no intentions of crossing the threshold so the pair remained just outside the door.

House raised an eyebrow and his voice. "You can't be serious. You're the one who wanted him admitted."

"And you're the one who convinced me otherwise. We don't have an empty bed available now."

"He can go to your place, then."

"No he can't, my sister and her family are visiting. Her oldest son is camped out on the couch, her younger son is on the floor, and she and her husband are sharing the guest room with their infant."

House gave her a disbelieving look. "You did this on purpose."

"Right, _I_ invited my family over a month ago because I predicted Wilson would go blind and I wanted nothing more than to force you to spend time with him."

"I knew you had some kind of freakish psychic ability."

"House, I-"

Cuddy was interrupted by a nurse rushing over to the pair. "He's seizing!"

Frowning, House said, "Looks like he's staying here for the night," as he and Cuddy rushed towards Wilson's exam room.

_______


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for reading and reviewing. One more chapter left after this one.

Chapter 5

The sheets were scratchier than he remembered and he realized the blanket was missing the strip of satin along the top edge. The bedding smelled…clinical. Opening his eyes, Wilson held his breath, briefly forgetting he could no longer see. Exhaling, he did everything in his power to keep from losing it there alone, in what he could only guess was a hospital room. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to keep the tears from pooling in his eyes.

Not knowing for certain, Wilson was fairly confident that he felt sunlight on his left, which meant he'd spent the night in hospital. Waking more fully, the hospital sounds from the hallway began to filter in, and from the din he decided that he was not in the ICU, though he couldn't remember exactly why he was in a hospital bed.

Despite being covered with a sheet and thin blanket, Wilson felt overwhelmingly exposed. The lightweight bedding suddenly seemed confining, as did the iv he was attached to and struggling against the various wires which he found upon placing his hand on his chest, Wilson knew he wanted only one thing: to get out. He'd never been claustrophobic before, but he now understood the intense desire to bolt in an effort to feel safe, or at least less un-safe. He fought the wires, simultaneously hearing his heartbeat speed-up on the adjacent monitor. The faster the monitor chirped, the more desperate he felt and the closer he came to thrashing about in the hospital bed. Wilson gripped the guard rail of his bed, his knuckles whitening with his mounting fear when he felt a strong hand cover his own.

"Settle down," House said quietly.

"I can't…need to get these off," Wilson stammered, trying to pull the lines from his chest.

"Seriously, _calm down_."

Wilson struggled under House's grip, but House refused to budge and desperate for something to ground him before he was lost to the throes of claustrophobia, Wilson slapped his free hand on top of House's hand and gripped tight.

House's first instinct was to recoil, and though he tried, Wilson had a death grip on him like no other and House found he couldn't move; his hand was firmly sandwiched between Wilson's trembling hands. His second instinct was to mock Wilson, tease him of his insecurities, thereby diffusing the situation and ultimately forcing Wilson to laugh at himself. Their relationship had changed though and mocking Wilson of his insecurities suddenly seemed…not fun.

"What happened?" Wilson asked, his hands not yet ready to leave the safety net that was his former best friend.

House sighed, shifted in his seat and closed his eyes, finding Wilson's unseeing eyes to be somewhat disturbing. "You seized last night."

"Prednisone?"

"You never received the first dose."

"So it's not arteritis."

"Congratulations, your blindness isn't necessarily permanent, but now you've got a potentially more serious condition which is causing you to seize."

"Do I get a prize with that?"

"Yep, this way cool hospital bed, complete with this magical wand thingy that lets you raise and lower both your feet and your head at the push of a button."

"I was hoping you'd say I'd get my vision back."

"My hand's turning purple."

Wilson released his grip, unsure if House was being truthful or not, though as he thought about it, his own hand was a bit sore from gripping so tightly. "What time is it?"

"Nine; breakfast will be here soon."

"Not hungry."

"Good, more for me."

They sat in silence for several minutes until House turned the television on. He flipped channels for several minutes, finally settling on a talk show after he'd seen each station at least twice.

"Were you here all night?" Wilson asked. He noted that the heart monitor was once again beeping a normal rhythm.

House remained silent, instead upping the volume on the television set to avoid conversation. Wilson fully understood that House had stayed the night, likely in the chair beside him, and that House had no intention of admitting it. The weight of his previous words came crashing down on him and Wilson wanted nothing more than to erase the past several months, wishing life were more like a childhood game of kickball with the chance for a do-over.

"House, I'm s-"

Wilson felt the movement before he heard it; House was on his feet before Wilson had the chance to finish his thought. He limped around the edge of the bed, pausing near the doorway, though he didn't bother to turn around to face Wilson when he spoke.

"Foreman's on his way to take you for an MRI," House said.

"Wait, why can't you do it?" Wilson asked, a tone of desperation marking his words.

"I don't run diagnostic tests on my patients."

Wilson listened to the awkward gait of House's stride as he walked away. Calling out in anger, Wilson bellowed, "I'm not just your patient, House."

_______

Foreman poked his head into House's office later in the day and found House seemingly asleep in the corner chair and was slightly startled when House asked, "Anything?"

"MRI's clean."

"We need-"

House was cut off by the sound of his pager. He paused to look at it, closed his eyes briefly and said, "Damn."

_______

House stood beside Cuddy outside of Wilson's room and watched as his team worked on Wilson. "How long ago did this start?"

Wilson was unable to lie still as a migraine caused him to writhe in pain. His hands were balled in tight fists at his temples, his knees rested near his chest and his eyes were shut tight.

"The migraine started during the MRI, but it only just reached this stage a few minutes ago," Cuddy said. Looking at House, she shook her head. "What is it? Do you have any idea?"

"Where have you been?" House asked.

"Don't deflect; it's not like I spent the night on a wild date, pretending to be someone else. I had to meet my sister and her family last night."

House stared off, seemingly unfocused, at a spot on the distant side of Wilson's room and thought for a moment, almost forgetting Cuddy was standing beside him.

"House?"

"Get an OR ready," he said, as he walked in to Wilson's room. Cuddy told a nearby nurse to call up to the OR and then followed House inside.

House watched Wilson as the pain medication and slight sedative took affect and as the creases near his eyes lessened, House took a seat on the edge of his bed. "We need to do an arterial biopsy."

"But the MRI showed no evidence of temporal arteritis," Forman said.

"MRI is not conclusive; a biopsy is the only definitive way," House argued.

The fellows awaited orders but none came. Tentatively, Taub asked, "House? Do you want us to get Chase-"

"Nope. I'll do it," House said.

_______

Cuddy, Foreman, Taub, Thirteen and Kutner stood at the observation window and watched as House performed the surgery himself, with Chase assisting.

"Why did he insist on doing this himself?" Kutner asked.

Cuddy inhaled deeply, "Because," she paused, shaking her head. "Because he's House, and because that's Wilson in there."


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, well here it is, the last chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always. I do appreciate the feedback, very much. Thanks for sticking with this short story.

Chapter 6

Wilson sat with his eyes covered in gauze, his back propped up against the pillows. He listened for House's tell-tale uneven footsteps but hadn't heard them since the day prior. Cuddy had been by several times, as had Cameron, Foreman and Chase. House's newer team had been in and out all day, performing what ever medical test House had demanded from his diagnostic throne on the fourth floor.

That evening, shortly before Cuddy left for the night, she stopped by again to check in on Wilson. "The biopsy was negative; it's not temporal arteritis."

"I guess that's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," she said sadly. At least he wasn't permanently blind for certain, though any number of other things could possibly yield the same result. "How have you been otherwise?"

Wilson angled his head so that he almost looked like he was staring out of the window, if it weren't for the white gauze wrapped around his head. "Heart palpitations, but not bad. Is he coming by?"

She thumbed through his chart silently at first, afraid of upsetting Wilson, but eventually she donned a fake smile, hoping to disguise the pity in her voice. "He's busy; you know how he gets when he's got a case."

"I'm not a puzzle."

"Wilson…." Cuddy found she didn't know what to say, so she opted not to say anything at all.

"Do me a favor?"

"Hmmm?"

"Talk to him?"

Reluctantly, she said, "Okay."

_______

Cuddy walked into the darkened conference room and found House staring at the whiteboard. "He's asking for you."

"Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Would it kill you to visit him?"

"Would it kill you to wear a top that doesn't shout 'I'm available'?"

"You're purposely avoiding him."

"I am."

Cuddy tilted her head to the side and stared at House, though he still faced the whiteboard; she was shocked by his honest admission. "Why?"

"To see how he reacts."

"House, this isn't time for one of your games; Wilson's down there alone, blind and on the verge learning how to live the rest of his life without his sight if we can't figure this out."

House turned sharply in his chair and glared at Cuddy. "Any new symptoms?"

"I mean it, you can't jerk him around like this."

"_Symptoms_?"

Cuddy dropped her hands from her waist to her sides in exasperation. "Heart palpitations, happy now? You would have known that if you'd stopped by to see him."

"When I said I wasn't playing games, _wait for it_, I meant _I wasn't playing games_. Every time Wilson is stressed, a new symptom appears."

Cuddy stared at him blankly, not quite sure what he was getting at. "So, is that a symptom?"

"And they don't pay you the big bucks for nothing," he said sarcastically.

"So, if you know what's wrong with him, tell me."

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing's _actually_ wrong with him."

"You can't be serious? He's had two seizures now, a fever, heart palpitations and oh yeah, _he can't see_."

House picked up his cane and headed towards the elevators. "Conversion disorder."

Cuddy abruptly halted in the hallway after chasing after House; he stopped and turned to face her. "Conversion disorder?" she asked.

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Actual symptoms brought on by extreme moments of stress?"

"He doesn't have any neurological issues, the scans and blood work are clean; it's not autoimmune, a toxin or genetic. He's not faking it. Conversion disorder fits."

Cuddy shook her head in slight disbelief and in amazement with House's diagnosis. "So it's possible he won't be blind for life."

Turning again towards the elevators, House limped on. "If he accepts that it's a conversion disorder."

"He's going to need a psych consult. You need to talk with him, House. He's stressed because of all that's happened in the two months and because he needs y-"

House put his hand up in a stop-traffic sort of way and shook his head.

_______

"Out," House said gruffly. His fellows looked on at him in bewilderment. "I said get out. Go on, go home. You're off duty for the night."

Without talking back, his team filed out of Wilson's room and disappeared down the hall.

"Good to see you too, House."

"Actually, I can see you but you know you can't-"

"Do you have a magical cure or are you here just to annoy me?"

"Both, actually."

Wilson perked up at the thought of a possible cure. "Well?"

"You're too stressed-"

"I don't need a lecture."

"Shut up and let me finish. Your eyesight is perfectly fine."

"Right, and you're the head of the welcoming, bereavement and birthday committees."

"_I said_ shut up and listen." House took a deep breath, ready for Wilson's denial. "You have a conversion disorder."

Wilson leaned back into his pillow and sighed. "You think this is all in my head."

"Yeah, that about describes it. Congratulations, you're now officially a head case; I've always suspected, but now I've got proof."

"What if you're wrong?"

House gave him a disbelieving look before he realized Wilson couldn't see his expression. "I'm not."

"What if my sight doesn't come back?"

"Then it'll be your own fault. You control this; no one else."

Wilson shook his head and turned his head away from the sound of House's voice. "Just go."

Growing annoyed, House whined, "Wilson-"

"Please, just go; I need to think."

House walked out of the room and met Cuddy in the hall. The pair watched Wilson through the glass as he sat there by himself in the dark, his eyes covered in gauze, his hands clasped in front of him, his chin tipped down to his chest. Without lifting his head, Wilson sent an angry wave directed in their direction, knowing House wouldn't leave so easily.

_______

The next morning, Cuddy stood at Wilson's bedside with another doctor who was even shorter than Cuddy; House stood outside, peering in through the glass.

"Wilson, this is Dr. Friedman."

A corner of his mouth turned down. "I'm not a head case."

"No one ever said you were."

"House did."

Cuddy sighed, "And his opinion still matters to you."

Wilson shrugged.

"May I call you James?" Dr. Friedman asked.

Again, Wilson shrugged.

"Okay, James, well I prefer to go by Maggie." Maggie gave a quick smile and a nod at Cuddy, indicating it was okay for her to go.

On her way out, Cuddy paused when Wilson said, "Tell House I'm not here for his own personal viewing pleasure. He can come back later."

She smiled at how well Wilson knew House and said, "Okay."

_______

The next day, House again found himself in Wilson's room. "Your fever's gone. No more seizures. Heart looks good," House said, reviewing Wilson's chart. Wilson nodded. "If you don't get your sight back, let me know; we can sit in a movie theater and annoy everyone else while I describe everything on screen in detail," House said.

Wilson listened to the footsteps as House walked away. Wilson tipped his head back to rest on the pillows and sighed, "House."

Pausing at the doorway, House lowered his head and waited.

"We're supposed to talk. Maggie, Dr. Friedman, thinks that this is-"

"My fault." House said.

"I didn't say that. She thinks this is because I've pushed the one person who means the most to me out of my life and the stress has manifested itself as a conversion disorder," Wilson paused and snorted before he continued. "Leave it to me to skip the ulcer and move straight to blindness."

House slowly made his way back into the room and sat in the adjacent chair. Wilson's words resonated with him. "You always were an overachiever."

A slight smile touched Wilson's mouth. "This sucks."

"You know what sucks? Cuddy hovering over you every moment of every day after a head injury."

"Mommy dearest?"

"Worse, it was like having my own mother there."

"That _is_ bad."

"Yeah, at least the twins hovered whenever Cuddy did."

Wilson leaned into his pillow, unable to keep himself from smiling.

House crossed his feet on the edge of Wilson's bed, picked up the remote and turned the television on. "So, the Price is Right, or Spongebob?"

"Price is Right," Wilson said.

Grinning broadly, House said, "Spongebob, it is."

_______

Several days later, Wilson sat perched in a chair in his hospital room; House sat opposite him. Cuddy stood behind House, holding her breath.

"Ready?" she asked.

Wilson nodded once. "As ready as I'll ever be."

House slowly began to un-wrap the gauze from Wilson's skull, almost afraid to fully reveal Wilson's eyes. His eyes now exposed, House stared intently at Wilson. "Open your eyes," he said.

Wilson took a deep, cleansing breath before he lifted his eyelids. House stared into his brown eyes, waiting for confirmation. Wilson's eyes strayed to the left a bit and House noted the slight sheen as tears threatened to form in Wilson's eyes.

Cuddy covered her mouth with her hand before regaining her composure. "Maybe it'll take some time."

Wilson gazed directly at her. "Still need an oncologist?"

Cuddy hesitated momentarily as she processed what Wilson said before smiling brightly, her eyes filling with tears. She nodded vigorously, not trusting her voice at that moment.

House closed his eyes briefly and sighed almost imperceptibly. Though Wilson was looking at Cuddy, House's relief did not go unnoticed by Wilson.

Wilson then looked at House, staring intensely, and simply said, "I'm back."

Fin.


End file.
